~HOMEWARD BOUND.~
_Schooner Talma, at Sea, March 9, 1834._--The morning opened with
golden light, the sky was clear, the wind fair, and we got under way at
an early hour. With her prow to the north our sea-gull schooner danced
along her track, gliding rapidly over the waters like a bird just set
free from its cage and rejoicing to spread its pinions to the morning
breeze. The weather continued fine during the day, and the shores and
lowlands of the islands sunk below our horizon; then the table-lands
disappeared, and before dark the higher and then the highest points of
the land (fifteen hundred feet in elevation) were submerged beneath the
waves.
_March 15._ For three days past we have been among ice-bergs, some
of them several miles in length and perhaps a hundred feet high. The
chill of these monstrous congelations strikes us strongly. Our captain
navigates carefully while in near proximity to them, but our vessel is
small and in such constant and violent agitation from the waves that I
can do little else than brace myself and hold on.
_March 23._ The weather has been fine for many days, and we have held
divine service on board for two Sundays, with full attendance and
attention.
_April 1_--lat. 13° S. We passed several vessels, and before noon we
made land on the coast of Brazil, distant thirty miles. As we drew
nearer and nearer the shore we could see the houses on the beach and
the trees along the coast.
_April 5._ We have now been running for five days along the shores
of Brazil. The sea is smooth, the winds gentle, and the sailing
delightful. The weather is warm, the mercury standing at 80° Fahr. We
keep so near the shore in the daytime that we not only see the villages
as we glide along, but also men on the beach and the small boats in
shore.
We have passed among many catamarans, a clumsy kind of raft, or float,
made of three or four logs hewed underneath at the prow, and lashed
firmly together and rigged with mast, sail, and a centre-board, with a
raised platform over a portion of the raft on which the fishermen sit
with their tackle and bait, just above the water. On this rude float
they often venture far out to sea without fear of upsetting, and not
minding the wetting which is a matter of course.
As we sail smoothly along, our sailors throw out hook and line over the
stern and often haul in the fine _bonito_ (_Thynnus pelamys_) and other
edible fishes, so that our table is well supplied. We can also purchase
fish from the catamarans at almost any time.
The shores by which we pass are sometimes bold, but in most places they
are low and bordered by a beautiful sand-beach, while all the back
country, so far as we can see, appears beautifully tropical.
_April 6._ This morning we descried the city of Pernambuco, or Recife,
and, being becalmed, the captain determined to go on shore and procure
fruits and vegetables. He left the vessel at 9½ +A.M.+ and returned at
5 +P.M.+, bringing a large quantity of oranges and fresh vegetables.
During this time the Talma was lying off and on in full view of the
city, and on her inland tack running close up to the harbor. The city
is said to contain 30,000 inhabitants, mostly Portuguese and slaves.
It is built upon low ground, and is separated into three parts by the
windings of a small river. The houses are mostly built of brick and
stone, with roofs of tile and grated rather than glazed windows. The
buildings are generally whitewashed, which gives the city a beautiful
appearance at a little distance. But it is said that much of the beauty
is lost on a near view. The streets are narrow, irregular, and dirty;
the front of the town extends about a mile on the shore, and many of
the mercantile houses are built on spiles and stand over the water.
The harbor is narrow and extends the whole length of the town in front.
It is formed by a remarkable natural wall or breakwater of rocks
running parallel with the shore, and protecting it from the heavy swell
of the Atlantic. The entrance of the harbor is on the north end of the
town, and this pass is guarded by several forts. Here a boat is always
in waiting to hail everything which attempts to enter the port, and the
smallest boat is not permitted to land until it has been boarded and
inspected by an officer. We are told that the smallest craft, even to a
skiff, is not permitted to land until eighteen dollars are paid as port
charges. This was hard on our captain, who only wished to purchase a
little fruit, etc.
Two and a half miles to the north of Pernambuco stands the village of
Olinda, situated upon the sides and summit of a beautifully rounded
hill. This village is open, airy, and pleasant. The houses are white,
and are among lovely gardens and luxuriant groves of tropical trees and
shrubbery.
As seen from the sea this village presents a scene of almost unrivalled
loveliness; but it might lose, like Pernambuco, some of its charms upon
a nearer view.
A smooth sand-beach extends all the way from Pernambuco to Olinda. To
the south of the city lies Cocoanut Island, covered all over with the
cocoa-palm, whose tufted tops meet and interlock, forming a beautiful
canopy of perennial green. The island is low and level, and at a little
distance it presents the appearance of a floating garden. In the rear
of the city the land is low and covered with trees and verdure, and the
whole scene terminates in a mountain ridge of moderate elevation.
A whaling brig from the African coast, belonging to New Bedford, has
lately been seized here by the U. S. consul, Mr. Halsey, and the crew
are now lodged in prison on the charge of mutiny and murder. It is
supposed that the master, mate, steward, and cook are all murdered, as
they are missing.
We leave the coast of Brazil to-night, having been in near view of it
for nearly six days, and having sailed along its tropical shores for
more than three hundred English miles.
_Sunday, April 20_--lat. 12° N. We have left the Southern Hemisphere
behind us, and are making good progress towards our northern homes.
The weather being fine, we had religious worship on deck conducted by
Mr. Arms. Some of the crew seemed sober-minded; but one of the customs
of the vessel has an unhappy influence upon the minds of the sailors.
It is the practice of giving to every man who will take it a glass of
rum on Saturday evening.
The effect is often ludicrous and yet painful. In a few minutes after
swallowing the potation the men become noisy and garrulous. Some begin
to harangue the rest; some tell stories; some wrestle; some sing songs;
others dance with such fury as almost to blister their bare feet,
and all seem to strive to perform the most comical feats possible,
extorting smiles even from a weeper, and tears from a laugher. In this
way most of the Saturday evenings are spent, and the carousal often
runs into the night; and without great vigilance on the part of the
master and officers it would often end in fighting and bloodshed.
At the best it is demoralizing, and it is an unhappy preparation for
Sunday. A few of the sailors refuse to drink, and the captain seldom
uses intoxicants. He talks rationally on the subject of abstinence, and
says he thinks seriously of joining the temperance ranks. Some of the
men who forget themselves in the “spree” seem to be ashamed of it the
next day.
_April 26._ Made a few remarks to Mr. ---- on the subject of religion.
He seemed disposed to converse, and said that he had wished for an
opportunity to tell me something of his history. We agreed to set apart
an hour in the evening for this purpose.
At the hour appointed we met, and he related the following facts in
regard to himself:
“Six years ago,” he said, “I enlisted in the United States army and
was stationed at one of the posts on the lines. Many of my officers
were pious, and we had worship in the garrison on the Sabbath. A young
clergyman frequently preached to us in the fort, and I becamed aroused
to seek the salvation of my soul. I thought I found Christ: I united
with the church, joined the temperance society, and for a season
sincerely felt that I enjoyed the love of God. But the tempter came. A
young woman was living in the garrison who attracted my attention and
won my heart. I resolved to marry her; but knowing that my officers
would disapprove of such a step, I managed to have the union solemnized
without their knowledge. It was, however, soon discovered, and I was
put in confinement for two days.
“My wife was not pious, and I soon found that she was intemperate. I
expostulated with her in her sober moments and she promised to reform,
but instead of this she grew worse and worse, and in her fits of
intoxication she would attack me with abusive language, and often in
the presence of others, so that I was ashamed and grieved and knew not
what to do.
“At length my term of service in the army expired, and I resolved to
leave her and return to my friends in Maryland. This I did, but I
threw off my Christian character and have never been known since as a
professor of religion. My troubles preyed upon my spirits and I had no
rest. I went to New York and shipped for a voyage at sea; but since
I left home my bosom has been full of trouble and conflict like the
restless element on which I am tossed. I am sometimes almost driven to
distraction and desperation. I have given up all Christian duties and
indulged in many vices, supposing that I had committed the unpardonable
sin and that further efforts for salvation were fruitless. But while
you were preaching the other Sabbath I felt my heart kindle with a
desire to return if there be yet any hope in my case, and I wished
to have this conversation with you to know what you think of me, and
whether there is any hope for me.”
My heart was melted with this sad story. I endeavored to point out
the Scripture evidences of discipleship, viz., loving obedience to
the commands of Christ, telling him that his conversion appeared like
that of a “stony-ground” hearer, warning him to place no reliance at
all on any former experience, and at the same time exhorting him not
to despair of mercy through Christ Jesus. I told him there was one and
only one safe way for him, and that was to come with “a broken and
contrite heart” and throw himself at the feet of Jesus, with an honest
and fixed resolution to “go and sin no more.” This he promised to do,
and to repair, as far as was in his power, the evils he had done, and
also to return immediately to his wife on his arrival in our country.
_Sunday, May 4._ I talked this morning with a young man on the subject
of the soul’s salvation. He was a moral man, had a pleasant young wife
and two children, and was engaged in a lucrative business in one of
our cities. In an evil hour he was persuaded to drink to excess, and
while in this state he was urged to ship on a sealing voyage to the
Antarctic regions, and was hurried off by those whose “tender mercies
are cruel.” When he became sober he saw the rash step he had taken,
and would have turned back, but it was too late. For nearly two years
he has looked back with yearning desires to his injured wife and
deserted babes, mourning over his folly, and longing to return to his
once happy condition in the bosom of domestic love. He has resolved
never more to taste the poison which deceived and maddened him, and to
live a virtuous life, endeavoring to atone for his past delinquencies.
Seeming not to realize that his sins were against _God_, I endeavored
to fix his attention on that vital point, apprising him of the danger
of trusting to the resolutions of an unchanged and unsanctified heart
to keep him in the path of virtue, and urging the duty and importance
of “repentance toward God and faith in the Lord Jesus Christ.” He
listened attentively, and evidently with tender feelings, promising
to attend to the counsels given him. But ah! the sad history of the
sailor! The story of one is but the story of thousands. How impressive
the declaration of an ancient prophet, and how appropriate: “There is
sorrow on the sea”! I preached in the afternoon from Eccl. viii. 11. We
daily pass many vessels, and are looking out for land.
_Monday, May 5._ Saw schooners lying to and fishing for mackerel. Spoke
a schooner bound to Philadelphia. The captain tells us that we are only
forty-one miles from Block Island.
At 3 +P.M.+ the cry “Land ho! land ho!” rang through our vessel. Every
face brightened at the sight of our native shores, and every heart
seemed to beat faster with the hope of treading the soil of New England
before we slept.
As we drew near the land, it proved to be the south side of Long
Island, about 20 miles west of Montauk Point. To round the cape we
had to beat against a strong head-wind, which by 6 +P.M.+ increased
to a gale. The struggle to get around the eastern point of the island
was earnest and hard, but unsuccessful; so at twilight the command
came from the quarter deck, “Keep her off.” This implied standing out
to sea for the night. It was hard but necessary. The thrill of joy
which went through our hearts at the thought of being in New London
harbor to-night was all changed to disappointment. So we went about
and ran back to the south before a gale, and meantime the rain fell in
torrents. When the Talma was far enough at sea to be out of danger of
the land she was hove to and suffered to drift.
We have had no gale equal to this since we left the Falkland Islands,
and this hindrance teaches us that “our times are in His hands” who
“rules the raging of the sea.”
_May 6._ The storm abated this morning, but we had drifted out of sight
of land, and it was sunset before we came up again to Montauk Point.
So we retire to rest not expecting to reach New London to-night.
_New London Harbor, May 7._ At 1 o’clock, +A.M.+, while lying in our
berths, we heard the plunge of the anchor, and the announcement from
the deck, “All safe in New London Harbor!”
When daylight appeared our vessel was thronged with citizens who came
on board to meet their friends and to inquire about the voyage.
The scene on board and on shore was very touching. Here were husbands,
fathers, sons, and brothers inquiring after dear ones left behind
two years ago, and from whom nothing had been heard during this long
period. One of the officers was told that his only son, on whom he
doted, was dead.
Another was weeping at the tidings of a fond mother and sister gone
forever from earth.
But the saddest case of all was that of the young husband and father
with whom I conversed last Sunday. He was met with the report that
after his departure his wife came to New London in search of him, and
on learning that he had sailed, she, with a broken heart, took her
two children and returned to some friends in New York, where she soon
sickened and died of the cholera; that one of her little ones soon
followed her to the grave, leaving only one poor solitary child to meet
the father. I saw the man crushed under a weight of woe which no human
power could remove. It seemed as if the life would go out of him, for
he had so longed to return to his injured wife and forsaken children,
to confess his folly like the prodigal. And he had so reformed his
habits, and so carefully husbanded his earnings at sea to cheer and
comfort his family, that the disappointment was anguish.
In this state I left him with a sense of utter inability to help.
Thanks be to God, there is no human sorrow so heavy that it cannot be
removed by the Great Physician.
We bade our captain, officers, and sailors an affectionate farewell,
and accepted the invitation of Major Williams as his guests while in
the city.
Major Williams is one of the owners of the Talma, and in consultation
with his partner we were informed that our passage from the Falkland
Islands to New London was free.
Thus from our embarkation in New York for Patagonia until we landed on
the shores of the Connecticut, we have not been called to spend one
dollar of the money of the American Board. All has been free on the
part of ship owners and masters, and we have been most kindly guided,
protected, and blessed by Him that “keepeth Israel,” and who has said,
“Lo! I am with you alway.”
_Boston, May 8, 1834._ Took stage to Boston this morning to meet
the Prudential Committee of the A. B. C. F. M. and report. All were
surprised to see us, as nothing had been heard from us from the day of
our embarkation in New York until we entered the rooms of the Board in
Boston to-day. Our report was unfavorable to the present establishing
of a mission in Patagonia.